Letters to War
by Nancylu92
Summary: 1940. The school where the choirboys attended had blown up when they were pre-teens, blowing them back to their home countries and towns. Two boys keep in touch through affectionate letters, hanging onto the memories that they have left of each other. AU.
1. My Heartstrings

_Simon Durand_

_8 Rue Juste, Floor 5 Room 2A_

_Nice, France_

_January 20, 1940_

_Simon, _

_ How are you in France, right now? I wish I could see you, sometimes. What's it like in Southern France during winter? I'll bet it's really warm. _

_ You live right by the Italian bastards, and now Germany is invading France and the Low Countries. How can you live with that, honestly? I wish I could just wring their stupid little heads off their sockets, and just… you know what I'm getting at._

_ Maybe I should join the RAF? I really want to be able to fly a plane, and fight for Britain. _

_I can't believe I'm writing to you in the midst of a war. Is it strange? I sometimes find myself looking over pictures of our school, our choir, and you. I haven't seen you in years, and I wanted to tell you how I was doing, and get your information in return. I live in Leeds, England, with my parents and grandfather. My grandmother returned to Spain, at my grandfather's request, so she could be safe in their native country._

_ I know that I'm the last person you want to hear from; I know that very well. You probably wanted to hear from Jack, or Maurice, or maybe even Bill. But I wanted to tell you, that you've always been the better one. Always. Don't forget that, even if France might go up in flames at any minute now. _

_ I promise, even though this gale of a war may have blown us apart like this, I swear my heartstrings will never break from you. _

_From,_

_Roger F. Campbell_


	2. Don't Ever Lose Faith in Us

_Roger Campbell_

_17 Galloway Avenue_

_Leeds, United Kingdom_

_January 23, 1940_

_Dearest Roger,_

_This war makes every season so cold, but I shall assume that Nice is warmer than Leeds. This letter has made me feel just a bit better._

_ Calm down, the Italian soldiers aren't cruel to my family at all. One soldier - his name was Francesco, I believe – gave my little brother a small wooden horse from his home region, which was Campania. You have to learn to look above the loyalties, Roger._

_ Please don't, Roger. If you do, I really won't know where you'd be. If you stay in Leeds, I would at least be able to write a letter to you each week. It is already painful enough not being able to see you._

_ You're writing to me, I'm writing to you. Maurice got a letter from Janek, apparently. He didn't tell me much, but that his family's pretty busy in the mountains. We're all friends. We communicate during times of peace, during times of war. I also end up staring at the pictures, the only mementos left of our experiences in London together. I'm glad that you're doing well in Leeds. Why isn't your grandfather in Spain with your grandmother, Roger? Shouldn't he also go? _

_ As you know, I live in Nice, France, with my mother, sister, and brother. It's a simple life, as we don't have much money anymore, but the "Loft" is still lively and well. _

_ Non, amour. You were the person I wanted to hear from the most. Just seeing your handwriting is enough to make my heart mend, stitch my stitch. Distance means so little to me, when you mean so much. Even though it is one day further from the day we last saw each other, it is one day closer to the next time we will meet again. Please, have faith in us._

_ I'm sorry for the tearstains, Roger. I miss you so much._

_Yours truly,_

_Simon J. Durand_

The teenage boy smiled at Roger's letter, running a delicate hand over the parched paper with all the love in his heart.

"His handwriting hasn't improved from grade school, has it, Roger?" 


	3. I Just Want to Cry, Damn You

_Simon Durand_

_8 Rue Juste, Floor 5, Room 2A_

_Nice, France_

_January 27, 1940_

_Simon,_

_ Dammit, stop being so cheesy all the time, or else I might have to start crying too. It's really really cold here. I seriously need more and more blankets each night, and I wear three or four sweaters plus a scarf and a hat in my house, which already has a fire. You're pretty lucky to live in Southern France._

_ But they're the enemy, Simon! Don't you see? They're going to kill you the moment you let your guard around them. Francesco's nice, my arse. Who cares? We cannot have mercy on the enemy, even though they might act nice._

_ And I won't get to write letters to you all the time. Fine I won't go join the Armed Forces, but only for you. The minute you stop writing letters, I'm leaving._

_ Ah, the Chief. The jolly old days of being yelled at by him; what fun we had in the past. I wish I could just smack Maurice over the head, that mountain hickey. He always made such disgusting innuendos. But I can't believe I'm starting to miss his little jokes. Ugh, maybe I'll start turning into him someday. I'd hate that. Anyways, I'm wearing the scarf you got me as a Christmas present right now. It's starting to become pretty dirty since I wear it everywhere, and I can't bring myself to wash it. You touched it, after all. Wouldn't want anything happening to your fingerprints. Gramps takes care of me when Mum and Dad are at work, and Grandma was starting to miss Galicia, so she went back alone. She sends us letters all the time, like you to me. Say hi to everybody for me, okay? _

_ Another cheesy letter like the one you just sent me, and I'll virtually strangle you through these pieces of paper. I don't want to cry, and have Gramps start yelling at me in Spanish to stay strong. Oh wait, this guy doesn't cry, does he? I'm just so wizard like that. _

_ No more crying, do you hear me, Simon? I can barely read the bottom of your stinking letter because it's so blurry and wrinkled._

_I'll kill you if you cry again, since it's not British at all,_

_Roger F. Campbell_

Roger breathed in, and cleared his throat loudly. No matter how much he tried, Simon's words broke him apart. Not even Janek had seen this side of him before.

But, why? Why could this little kid make him feel this way?


End file.
